Page 77 of From Fling to Ring

Hmmm. Didn’t expect to provide the man so much entertainment. But he’s right. There is a beautiful, funny, ironic aspect to the whole thing.

“So what’s your move, man?” he asks.

“Benj, this isn’t a hockey game. This is my life.”

“Look. Is she worth it? Yeah, that was a shit move, writing all that stuff about you like she was trying to shoehorn you or your type into her book. But… maybe she has something to say that you should listen to.”

I’m sure she has a lot to say. I just haven’t given her the chance to say it. I haven’t returned a single text or call since finding her notebook.

“I don’t know man. We were having fun, we really were. A lot of fun. Or at least I thought we were.”

Shit, was I the only one having fun? Am I so goddamn clueless and out of touch I didn’t realize she was forcing herself to spend time with me?

No. That can’t be.

I know she was enjoying our time together.

It’s getting closer to the hour when San Francisco’s nine-to-fivers get off work, so the bar is filling up and Benji’s busy. It’s just as well. I’m happy to nurse my beer in silence.

Or I was happy to nurse my beer in silence. Three women come in and take the seats at the bar next to me. The one closest turns and looks at me several times and then decides to speak.

“Hey, you live in the neighborhood? I feel like I’ve seen you around.”

She’s pretty, with the fresh-faced outdoorsy look a lot of women in the city have. Normally, I’d be happy to chat her up.

C’mon man. Give it a try.

“Oh yeah? Maybe we’ve crossed paths. I live a couple blocks down.”

“Cool. You just getting off work?” she asks.

Bonus. She has no idea who I am.

“Yeah. I had a… short day today.”

Her friends start ribbing her for chatting me up, and pretty soon they’re all gabbing at me. They’re cute and funny, but I’m just not in the mood to socialize.

“Hey, we’re going to a party later at the Millennium Tower. Want to come?”

I hesitate, trying to come up with a good excuse. I sure as hell can’t tell them I really just want to go home and make some oatmeal cookies.

“He wants to come,” one of them says with a giggle, “just look at him.”

The one next to me, who’s scooted closer and closer since she arrived, puts a hand on my arm. “You really should come. These people are loaded and have a penthouse apartment with killer views. And then later, if you want…” she adds coyly, “we could go someplace private.”

There was a time, not long ago at all, where I would have been all over a move like this. But today?

I throw some money on the bar and wave goodbye to Benji. “Can’t do it. But you all go have fun,” I tell them.

Disappointment crosses her face. “Oh, do you have to work or something? Are you another one of those tech guys, who works around the clock and stuff?”

“Something like that,” I say.

And head back home.

39

LUCY

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